


Binding

by TeamGwenee



Series: Pretty Dress Prompts [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Even if Brienne prefers breeches and breast plates for day to day life, she can now and then find pleasure in dressing like a lady. Depending on present company, of course.





	Binding

There were times in Brienne’s life where wearing a gown was unavoidable.

Between the ages of ten and twelve, Septa Roelle would lace her into one daily, pulling at the laces of her corset with the same tenderness and care as she dragged a brush through Brienne’s knotted, tangled hair, yanking out great handfuls with each stroke. Should she discover Brienne had taken it off in the day or had momentarily loosened the laces, she would make her wear it through the night as recompense.

When her father had finally submitted to Brienne’s pleading and ordered for her to be trained as a knight, Septa Roelle departed in protest. That very evening Brienne gathered her corsets and gowns and other fripperies and threw them over the edge of a steep cliff and into the sea.

(Needless to say, the fishermen below were not impressed.)

After that, Brienne lived for nothing but the sword. Muscles grew in place of curves, her yellow locks were hacked short and her hands grew as tough as old leather.

But then there was a war. Then there was a war and then the Baratheons were gone and then the Lannisters were ascending and the Stormlands were in chaos and the Tarth’s distant ties were growing closer with every slaughtered stag and then suddenly Brienne was carted off to Casterly Rock. There to meet her husband and her future.

There were certain things the future of Lady of Casterly Rock had to do during her wedding festivities. Especially when the king was bearing witness.

She had to smile and be gracious and don attire suitable for a great lady of a great house. In this she had no choice, even if her smile looked more like a grimace, and royalty was a boy king who cared only for playing with his kittens. Even if the only thing ‘great’ about Brienne was her size and her wedding attire made her look like nothing more than a painted, dancing bear.

The handmaidens dressing Brienne under Lady Genna’s watchful eye were experienced and knew their craft. Other ladies may have departed from them in comfort and ease, but the maids were used to soft flesh and pillowy curves, not muscles as hard and taut as stone.

Brienne stood, calloused hands tightly gripping her dresser and crooked teeth grinding in pain as the two maids did battle. One after the other, they found that their usual method was insufficient, and their pulls became hard and forceful. Even when, on Lady Genna’s suggestion, one maid held onto the back of the other and pulled, the corset did not close. After many fruitless attempts, the maids claimed defeat, their sore arms hanging weak and limp as thread.

Rather than give in as a lesser woman might have done, Lady Genna’s will of iron gave her the ingenuity to have a burly armed laundry maid summoned to Brienne’s chambers. And on Lady Genna’s orders, the maid took the laces in hand, wedged her foot on the small of Brienne’s back and heaved.

It was then, as the whalebone corset slowly began caving in at the sides, crushing her ribs and biting through her soft linen shift and into her flesh, did Brienne’s battle face finally desert her and she let out a long, low groan of pain, which was paid as much heed as the flap of a butterfly’s wings. Her maids saw that her slick grip on the dresser was slipping and hurried over to hold her hands down and keep her in place. Their nails dug into her wrists, and she was only released once the victorious laundry maid tied of the laces and relinquished her grasp.

Brienne near staggered back, gasping for air that did not come, her broad shoulders lurching up and down as she clutched at her bedpost for support.

“There,” an unperturbed and unruffled Lady Genna said; (a Lady Genna who was married for many a year to a man whom no one cared much for and had born several children and could be any shape she liked), circling her with satisfaction. “You have a woman’s figure now.”

Brienne looked doubtfully at her reflection in the clear glass mirror. Her skin was flushed and mottled, and her waist sharply moulded in and out at straight, unnatural angles. Her small breasts were thrust up, but only looked even smaller against her wide shoulders, made wider still by smallness of her bound waist.

The maids opened the windows and let in merciful gusts of sear air, and dabbed at Brienne’s red skin with cold water, allowing her a momentary respite to cool off before caking her face in ticklish powder and heavy, sticky rouge, lest she sweat it right off.

Her woefully short hair was hidden under a ruby hair net, the pins digging into her scalp, and her thick, red velvet wedding gown was pulled over her head and tugged into place. The fringed sleeves swept down to the floor and Brienne already foresaw herself struggling down the aisle, tripping and stumbling as she tangled her feet into the train and sleeves. The gown was hot and heavy, yet lacking in the comforting protection of armour, being cut shamefully low in the front to show off her minute breasts.

Her feet were buckled into pinching ruby encrusted slippers. Placed around Brienne’s long neck was a lengthy necklace of gold chain and rubies, doubled over and swinging down her front, rattling with each step. A chunky gold and ruby choker was clicked into place, which forced her to keep her head up all through the tedious ceremony and feasting, rather than looking down and away from the crowds of peering eyes.

At her side, her new husband gave her little notice, never once meeting her eye or speaking a word, for which she was grateful. It was taking enough of her strength getting through the celebrations in her stifling attire, without having to give mind to the night and future that was to follow, and the man with whom she was expected to do so with.

It was only after that they had been marched and thrust into their bedding chamber did he deign to address her. He wordlessly crossed the room and opened the window, the night air a sweet mercy after the sticky, sweaty heat of the Great Hall. He then shrugged of his velvet doublet with aggravating ease and helped himself to a goblet of ruby wine as Brienne ducked behind a screen and struggled out of her gown. She let the wretched thing fall carelessly to the floor, her hairnet and choker; which had turned slick against her neck, with it. She reached round her back, swearing softly as her fingers struggled helplessly at the taut laces.

“Fuck,” she muttered bitterly.

It must have been the coarseness of her language, or simply the fact that this was the first word he heard her say since she had choked out her vows, that drew Ser Jaime towards her. He peered round the screen, his eyes falling to her waist with casual sympathy.

“Need some help?” he offered, placing his goblet down on a small table with a clank.

Brienne blinked at this offer of help, puzzling over the seemingly genuine look of mild pity on his face.

“Yes please,” she said. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, she turned her back to him.

At her request, Ser Jaime strode towards his rather skittish young wife and fumbled at the laces, slowly undoing each one with care, until it fell open and her muscles and waist spread out in relief. Jaime’s hand rested lightly on the small of her back as she rubbed her aching ribs.

“They left us food,” Jaime informed her, nodding towards the silver platter of bread and ham and cheese “You had best eat something.”

Brienne had not realised he had noticed her not eating.

Freed from the heat and the gown and the stares, Brienne found that her stomach was empty and her head somewhat light, and gratefully fell upon the small feast, Jaime joining her in companionable silence.

After the celebrations had ended, the king, his court and Lord Tywin departing for King’s Landing, Brienne once more began spending the days clad in breeches with steel in hand. An accord was soon reached between herself and her husband, and they fell into an astonishingly easy pattern. Jaime listened to her advice, seeking out her voice and pushing her to speak up, and delegated tasks to her. They sparred together, and when they were able, set off on week-long hacks together.

It was only on certain occasions, such as when entertaining puffed up and priggish lords or marking important events, did Brienne once more don the clothes of a lady. Even this turned out not to be so much of a trial, with Jaime beside her.

For one thing, it was her esteemed husband who helped her dress, and she him in turn.

She would help him into his doublet and buckle his cape into place. He would carefully slide her fine small clothes over her head and kneel before her to slowly roll her silk stockings up her thighs. He would hold out one of the blue gowns her had commissioned for her and help he slip in, the cool blue silk trickling like water against her skin. Even the corset was not so tiresome with Jaime lacing it up.

Tentative at first, he fell into a pattern, his pull firm but gentle and every few tugs accompanied with a “Is this alright? Is this comfortable?” His warm breath would prick up the hair on her neck and trickle down her spine, and when he was done Jaime would place his hand on her waist in satisfaction. Through the layers of fabric Brienne could faintly feel the press of his fingers, and she carried that with her for the rest of the day, so that the grip of her corset felt like his hold on her.

As such, on the rare occasions she was required to wear it, Brienne found she rather liked Jaime dressing her in a lady’s finery.

She liked it even more when he took it off.


End file.
